


Deservir

by cloudyworld



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, M/M, Slavery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2015-01-12
Packaged: 2018-03-06 07:22:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3125927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloudyworld/pseuds/cloudyworld
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Slave AU. "And here you are, feeding my parents dinner and going to the market for them. A Dalish Keeper." he can't help the bitter laugh that escapes him as he shakes his head. "Shit." </p><p>Rating & warning updated for chapter 2.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The summer is in full swing when Dorian's father brings home their new slaves, purchased earlier that morning. They are lined up in the foyer of their house so his mother can inspect them, making pleased comments to her husband when Dorian walks in. 

"Good timing, Dorian, I'd like you to meet our new servants," he beams, gesturing to the three elves as if they are prized hunting trophies or large fish. Dorian rolls his eyes, but descends the stairs. Slaves are a necessary evil, he remembers his father saying. Someone needs to clean and serve food to guests. 

Two are older, with tired eyes and hair cropped short, their faces painted with swirling marks. The first thing Dorian notices about the last one is that his nose is swollen, blood dripping down over his lips and off his chin. His eyes are downcast, but there is barely hidden fire in them. Dorian had never seen a slave quite like him before. 

"Father, you didn't even bother to clean him up," he tuts, producing a clean handkerchief and approaching the youngest elf, waiting for him to meet his eyes before he presses the cloth to his nose. He noticeably flinches, but lets Dorian dab the blood away. "I would have thought you'd care more for the floor, at least." 

"He would have had to clean it up at some point," his father chuckles, waiting for Dorian to finish before leading them off to their quarters. 

 

\--

 

"It's broken, you know." The elf looks up from his new bed and small collection of belongings, turning to meet the young man standing in the doorway. "It'll take awhile to heal on it's own." When he doesn't reply, Dorian breathes out a laugh. 

"You don't have to stay silent; as much as I like to hear myself talk, I'd like to have a conversation with two people." The elf nods, lips pursed tight. 

"Fine, we'll start at the beginning. What's your name?" 

"Mahanon," the elf replies quietly, but without hesitance. 

"And he has a voice! It's a pleasure to meet you, Mahanon," Dorian smiles amicably, attempting to get the elf to relax. "I'm Dorian as you probably already know. I came to tell you that you should probably have your nose looked at; it'd be a shame if it healed crooked." 

"Why are you doing this?" he asks, wary. Dorian can't help his surprised smile. He asked a question! "Did your father ask you to come fix it so he doesn't have a hurt slave on his hands?" 

"Forget your nose, you've got quite a mouth on you too!" Dorian replies, absolutely pleased. All of the previous slaves his family has owned had been older, beaten down by a lifetime of servitude. They were kind to him, but not nearly as exciting as the angry young elf in front of him. "To answer your question, no, I am not here because my father wished me to be. I couldn't care less what that man wished of me, anyway. No, I am here because it probably hurts, and I know if I broke my nose, I'd love for someone to do something about it." 

Mahanon frowns, but Dorian's explanation seemed to ease some of that wariness out of him, if only by a fraction. 

"Sit down and let me heal it, would you? Healing magic isn't my specialty but I think I can at least put it back into place." Dorian holds his hands out, still far enough away for the elf to change his mind. Mahanon stares at his hands for a long moment, but relents, perching himself on the edge of the bed and letting the human step closer and pass his hands over his face. It's only a moment before his nose is put back into place, and the cartilage begins to heal itself. 

"There we are. Good as new. You'll want to be careful, though. No running into walls or getting into fights or whatever you did to break it in the first place." 

"Got punched," Mahanon allows, meeting Dorian's eyes as he stands back up. The elf touches his nose, running delicate fingers over the tattoo that curves around it. "Got in a fight with a slaver. Should have known better than to get angry at a human wearing gauntlets." 

"Should have, I suppose," Dorian replies, a smirk curling his lips. Mahanon was by far the most interesting slave his father had ever picked up. Selfishly, Dorian hoped he wouldn't be going anywhere anytime soon. 

 

\--

 

Noon in Minrathous had always been unbearable. If Dorian could avoid going outside at all during the day, he would, or at least only go outside wearing as little clothes as possible. The city was crowded and not at all shielded from the sun, and going outside meant smelling the lovely combination of unwashed bodies, dirt covered streets and nasty herbs sold on every market corner. Father could accompany _himself_ to the Magisterium; there was absolutely no way Dorian was leaving their house.

He peers out the back window to their tiny garden below, where his mother had sent the slaves out to cut her plants before they wilted in the hot sun. She had been nice enough to give them large brimmed hats to keep the sun out of their eyes, but both Mahanon and the other male slave were shirtless and bound to burn. Their skin was pale, paler than most humans or even elves seen in the north. He wondered if they weren't from Tevinter, or even Nevarre; Mahanon's accent hadn't been clear enough to tell, especially for someone like Dorian who had never left the country. 

It gets particularly bright out a moment later and Dorian watches them both sag, wiping sweat off of their faces. He sighs, leaving his room to fetch them water. 

When he opens the back door, they both jump to attention, hoping to look as if they'd be working hard the whole time. 

"Relax, it's just me," he hands a cup of water to each of them, smiling when they drink greedily, forgoing manners for just a moment. "Sorry she put you up to this; she's obsessed with those stupid plants." 

They look between each other, before Mahanon drags his arm across his face again. "It's our job." 

"I know that, but it sure looks like you're having an awful go of it. You're not used to this weather, are you?" 

"We're from Ferelden," the other elf says. "It's quite different there." 

"All the way from Ferelden? Then you haven't been slaves for very long, either.." 

"No," Mahanon laughs, a hollow sort of sound. "We're Dalish elves." He points to his forehead and the swirling tattoo that covers it. Dorian feels like an idiot. Of course. He'd never seen city elves with tattoos like that before. Something about them being Dalish makes him feel sick; they had been free, roaming the wilderness, rich with stories and tradition. Certainly it was bad that city elves were slaves too, but they lived in on top of each other in slums the humans left for them, starving and sad. Slavery could give them a bed and food where they might not have had it. Dalish elves were proud hunters, not slaves.

He feels his stomach churn when he thinks about how much his father probably paid for three well-fed, unmarred, strong Dalish elves. 

"Then your clan was.." He can't finish the sentence. 

"Overrun," Mahanon supplies, though he's lost in thought as he says it. "We lost a lot of our people to the blight, so we weren't strong enough to fight back. Our keeper was killed, and everyone who survived sold into slavery." 

"Maker," Dorian shakes his head. "I'm so sorry." Mahanon shrugs, while the other elf looks unconvinced. He supposes he shouldn't expect them to accept an apology from the son of their new owners. He certainly doesn't deserve it. 

 

\--

 

"Go to this party, they said. It'll be fun," Dorian swears in Tevene under his breath, watching the old magisters chat about murder and the weather in the same sentence. Backstabbing, death and lies could be fun; he had been to a couple parties that were enjoyable, but they usually included gorgeous young men and locked rooms they could hide in. Decadent and lascivious as Tevinter could be, Dorian tired of cranky old men drinking nasty old liquor quite quick as of recent. 

Though, he thought, Mahanon returning to his side with a glass of wine, he certainly could have worse company to suffer through it with. 

"Thank goodness you've come back, I thought someone I knew was going to talk to me," Dorian gratefully takes the glass, putting it to his lips. "If I have to hear another disgusting old fop talk about blood magic, I might resort to it myself if it'll end this horrible gathering." The elf beside him laughs softly.

"You struck me as the type who would love this. Dressing up, making pointless small talk, arranging to kill unsavory neighbors...It has your name written all over it." 

"How could you," Dorian responds, nudging Mahanon with his side. "If I had unsavory neighbors to dispose of, I'd do it myself! No one wants to get their hands dirty in Tevinter, but sometimes that's the best part!" 

"I knew you were a depraved man, just like the rest of them," Mahanon whispers sharply, grinning as he avoids Dorian's hands. An older man approached the two of them, awkwardly ending their banter. 

"Dorian, I haven't seen you in so long, how have you been?" The man couldn't have been younger than sixty, his tangled grey beard a stark contrast to the rich clothing he wore. Dorian knew him from somewhere, but couldn't recall a name. Perhaps an associate of his father's. 

"Good, thank you," Dorian replied with a cough, downing the rest of his glass. He'd need it, he was certain. Mahanon stilled by his side, eyes fixed on the ground in respect. "Busy. Lots of magic that needs studying, and all." 

"Of course," the man waved off Dorian's lame attempt at conversation and instead turned towards the slave beside him. "This is a new face. A Dalish elf? Now where did you find yourself one of them?" 

"You'd have to ask my father actually, I'm not sure who he was purchased from," Dorian replies. He didn't want to talk about it ever, but he especially didn't want to talk about Mahanon's net worth in gold in front of the other man. 

"He's quite a purchase," the magister muses, stepping closer to inspect the elf's face. Mahanon doesn't move, even when the man's hand touches his face, tilting his chin up to look into his eyes. "he's a perfect age. Handsome, too." 

"I'll make sure to tell him you said so," Dorian quips, his expression turning sour. 

"How much?" 

Dorian blinks. "Beg your pardon?"

"How much is he? I'm sure I could find a sum your father would be pleased with. Maybe turn in some favors, get him some more power in the magisterium. I can't help but feel jealous you have such a fine knife-ear at your side. A Dalish one, no less. I'm surprised you have him here, out in public. A slave like this should be kept beside your bed, don't you think?" 

As soon as the words leave the man's mouth, Dorian's all at once sick and dizzy with anger. He steadies himself before he speaks again. 

"He's most certainly not for sale." 

"Not even for-" Dorian interrupts the man with a raised hand. He wants to do more than just stop his talking. He wants to burn the man alive for even insinuating that he was to be kept like a concubine, tied with velvet rope to a bedpost until his master returns. As soon as the image appears in his head, Dorian can feel the magic sparking on his hands, his restraint thinning with every passing second. 

"I don't care what you have to offer me. He's not for sale." The 'back off' was left unsaid, but both Mahanon and Dorian are quite sure the Magister got the idea. He raised both his hands in defeat, laughing. 

"I understand. Send my regards to your father." 

Grabbing Mahanon's arm, Dorian stormed off through the mansion, practically kicking the front door down in his haste to exit. Spitting out a wild string of curses in Tevene, he doesn't stop moving until Mahanon slips his arm free of Dorian's painful grip, out of breath and alarmed. 

"What that man said; you have slaves for that?" 

"My family? No, absolutely not. Tevinter as a whole? They're as common as blood mages. It's one thing to make people clean your floors and watch your kids, but another to keep them like sex toys. It's said that those slaves are the favored slaves, too. The ones that warm your bed. Personally I think it's awful. The thought of him doing that to you is.." Dorian covers his face with a hand, taking a deep breath. Don't think about it. 

"I could have killed him for even mentioning it." 

Mahanon nods, still taking everything in while Dorian continues ahead back to his house. The streets are loud with raucous laughter from other parties, the air still hot though the sun set hours ago. 

"I should thank you, then. For not letting that happen to me." Dorian stops a couple steps ahead of him and looks over his shoulder. Mahanon shouldn't be thanking him. He shouldn't, because really Dorian didn't do anything. His father is certainly unlikeable, but luckily not evil. Dorian shakes his head, but smiles.

"You're welcome." 

 

\--

 

Being Dalish, it takes them a long time to figure out human cooking. Dorian figures his father probably forgot to take that into account when he bought them. 

His mother spends a couple days in a row teaching them to cook and plate food correctly; she's got a party coming up and she'd be furious if her guests found a weak spot in her otherwise perfect entertaining ability. 

He checks in on them every couple hours, making sure his mother hasn't run them into the ground. By dinnertime, she decides they have learned well enough to make a small meal, and that she'll leave them to it.

"She didn't give you anything too hard, did she?" Dorian asks, looking over Mahanon's shoulder to the various bowls and pots covering the countertop. He jumps, but relaxes when he realizes who it is. 

"Noodles in broth. It doesn't seem too difficult," he replies, stirring the biggest pot, examining small bottles of spices with his other hand. Dorian plucks the one he's holding out of his hand and taps a bit of it in the pot, followed by two more. 

"These three always go with broth like this." He lets Mahanon stir it a couple more times, before gesturing for him to taste it. Hesitantly, the elf lifts the spoon to his lips. "What do you think?" 

"Good," he answers, pleasantly surprised. "Most human food is quite bland, but this isn't so bad." 

"I'm glad you think so. You've seem to become quite the cook in such a short amount of time. Mother will be pleased." At the mention of the lady of the house, the elf seems to deflate a little, nodding. "What, cooking not your new passion in life?" Mahanon frowns, dropping the spoon back on the side of the pot and stepping away from Dorian. 

"No, being a slave really isn't my thing yet, I have to say," he deadpans, and Dorian has enough sense to look apologetic. 

"I'm sorry, that's not what I meant--it was just a joke. I like to tease my friends." That makes Mahanon stop in his tracks, and Dorian's already swearing before the elf even turns around. 

"Mahanon, listen-" 

"Friend? We're friends? Because if I remember correctly, your parents _purchased_ me to live in their house with no pay, and I don't think one of my duties is to be your friend. Do you think I enjoy this? That I want to be friends with you?" The other elves try to calm him, but Mahanon rips his arm right out of their grasp in order to corner Dorian as his voice gets louder. Dorian knows better than to try and get a word in, though it's becoming harder to even look Mahanon in the eye, much less speak. What could he even say that was better than 'I'm sorry'? He deserves to be free. 

"Trust me, if I wasn't captured, I wouldn't be here. I had a life before this. We all did. You can be nice to me, treat me well and give me food, but it doesn't make up for this. It doesn't make you any better than your father, or any other magister in this fucking country." I know, Dorian wants to tell him, I know I'm wrong, but he can't find his voice. Not when he looks at the small, tired elf with tears threatening to fall from his eyes. 

He doesn't get the chance to when his father bursts in, immediately restraining the elf with magic and smacking him across the face. 

"How dare you speak to my son like this," his father shouts, Dorian quick to recover and put hands on his father's arm before he raises his hand again. 

"Father, please, I made a mistake." He struggles for a moment with his father, tightening his grip. "Don't hit him again. Please." It's another moment before he lowers his arm and lets the elf fall to the floor.

"You're lucky my son is kind. I'm certainly not as forgiving." He sighs, letting most of the anger drain out of him. "Three days with no food is your punishment, then. Be grateful it is not for longer." Mahanon doesn't look up as he leaves the room, the two other elves braced against the back wall, dinner completely forgotten. 

Dorian bends down to examine Mahanon's face, but the elf turns sharply out of his reach. Dorian can see the dark handprint his father left on his cheek, but doesn't try to touch him again. 

"I'm so sorry." 

 

\--

 

"Why won't you just do as we ask, Dorian? Why do you always disappoint us this way?" Those words sting more than they should. 

"I guess just being myself is disappointing enough for you two, isn't it? I certainly don't have to try very hard!" He can feel himself begin to wear thin. He does feel guilty, sure, but this isn't something that can be easily changed, and he feels as though it's becoming increasingly harder for his father to understand that. 

"You haven't even met her yet; this could be really good, Dorian."

"Oh yes, father, like how you and mother are good? Excellent, just what I dreamed: an eternity of misery just for the sake of popping out more little mages. It doesn't matter how charming or beautiful she might be, she is still a girl, and I'm not going to marry a girl just so you can sleep at night." 

"Dorian, please, we just want what's best for-" 

"Do you? Or do you want what's best for you? Because you don't even know what I want anymore." Dorian yanks the door open to his father's study and stomps off down the hall, not sparing a thought for the expensive furniture he might be tossing around on the way.

Convinced his father will probably come looking for him in his room, he throws open the back door and wanders through the garden, pacing back and forth until he's sure he's made a ditch with his footsteps. He feels ugly and useless and wishes there was some way to change this, to make himself something else so he could stop being such a failure to the stupid family bloodline. 

He doesn't even realize he's muttering to himself til Mahanon is beside him, dressed only in a pair of pants, his arms folded across his chest. 

"It's hard to sleep with you shems yelling and stomping around like beasts above me." Dorian freezes, shoulders drooping. 

"I apologize for waking you. Father and I were arguing, it-" 

"I know, I heard everything." Mahanon tilts his head, but his expression doesn't change. "I didn't realize that being into men was such a big deal here." Dorian flushes bright red, looking at his feet. He isn't particularly keen on people knowing about this part of him, but he figures he owes Mahanon at least this much. 

"It is when you're expected to continue on a bloodline with at least one healthy, not deviant child. It's fine if it's something you do for fun or sport, but someday we all have to settle down with a nice young lady and fill up the magisterium. I just don't think I could do it." 

"You're trapped then." Dorian raises an eyebrow at this. "A slave to your own customs, perhaps." 

"I suppose.." he replies, looking off to the side. "It's a beautiful cage but a cage nonetheless." 

"Maybe I underestimated you. Maybe you understand better than I thought." 

"I do?" Dorian blinks, searching the elf's face for any clues, though all he gets is a small smirk as he steps a little closer. 

"I'm sorry about your father. Human customs are so ridiculous." 

"You don't have to apologize, I've been dealing with this forever and it's certainly not your fault," 

"I know." Mahanon puts one hand over Dorian's, squeezing it. "But I am sorry." 

"Thank you," he breathes, staring at their hands until the elf pulls away. "That means a lot, coming from you." 

Mahanon snorts, his smirk growing wider. 

"It should." 

"How are you feeling?" Dorian blurts out, remembering it's been three days since they've spoken, since he has not-so-subtly avoided the other man after their fight. "You must be hungry." Mahanon shakes his head. 

"You humans forget we are hunters. Sometimes the food runs out and we have to travel farther to find more." 

"You can't say you're used to this, can you?" 

"I'll live. I've gone for longer, especially when there are people in my clan who've needed food more than I." He looks off in the distance, and Dorian studies the elf's features in the low light. A jagged scar cuts through one of his eyebrows, his eyes a deep blue. Compared to the other elves, Mahanon's hair is much longer. His nose looks like the break had never happened. He smiles mostly to himself. 

"What?" Mahanon snaps him out of his thoughts. "Why are you smiling like that at me?" 

"I was just thinking about how majestic you must have looked in those tight leggings and warpaint all the Dalish in the books wear while you hunted and killed deer," Dorian smoothly replied, grinning sort of lewdly at the elf. Mahanon outright laughs. 

"I'm afraid to disappoint you, then. I'm shit with a bow. I was First to the Keeper." 

"First? Then you're-" Dorian blinks, shock coloring his face as his smile disappears. "You're a _mage_?" Mahanon nods. "You studied Dalish magic?" 

"I certainly didn't study human magic," he chuckles, clearly pleased with expression Dorian was wearing. 

"No, of course not! I simply mean- I'm surprised that you're here and you've never used it! Is it different than human magic? I've read books but I've never gotten the chance to really study it!" 

"It's not really for humans to learn, I suppose," the elf replies, still amused. "But what was I going to do? Start an earthquake in the middle of the slave auction? I didn't want to risk my people's lives. Before we all were separated, I was the keeper." 

Dorian's excitement dies down as he thinks about how hard it must have been to hold back while he was forced to watch his family enslaved, tortured, and separated. It hurts him to simply imagine it; no doubt it was unbearable to experience. Not that Mahanon's circumstances now were any better. He was still a slave. 

"And here you are, feeding my parents dinner and going to the market for them. A Dalish Keeper." he can't help the bitter laugh that escapes him as he shakes his head. "Shit." 

"Sometimes I wonder if I'm dreaming; if this is a nightmare." Mahanon smiles crookedly, turning away from the other man. "Some days I hope I'll wake up in the aravel like none of this happened. But some days I don't." He glances at Dorian out of the corner of his eye. "It seems rather cruel that you're here too, treating me well, letting me be myself. I can't decide which is worse: that I still have hope that this is a dream, or that some part of me hopes it's real. That you're real." 

Dorian takes in a sharp breath as Mahanon speaks, a thousand thoughts rushing through his head that he's trying to make sense of, as well as what the elf just said to him. Before he can reply, Mahanon bows and turns towards the house. 

"Goodnight, Ser Pavus."


	2. Chapter 2

"Where are you going, knife-ear?" Mahanon turns to avoid the voice, but bumps into a larger man standing on the other side of him. He just wanted to get home, he knew he should have let Dorian go with him like he asked to. Living in the Pavus house allowed him some freedom, made him feel brave. It was stupid of him to think that extended outside their walls.

"Ooh, look at how pretty this one is. He's got pretty little makeup on," a man's hand cups Mahanon's cheek, smoothing a rough thumb over his tattoos.

"Please don't," Mahanon speaks, willing his voice to be stern, but it wavers as the three men draw closer, one catching his hand and tossing him against the nearest wall. 

"What's that? I don't understand elven speak," one of the men laughs in his face while another rakes a hand through his hair, loosening the bun and yanking it tight in his fist. 

"Please stop," he repeats, trying to fight their wandering hands, yelping when they pull apart his shirt and tug down his pants and smallclothes, "I don't want to hurt you." 

"Hurt us? I doubt you'll be hurting us any," one says as he pins his arms above his head, hands tight enough to leave bruises as another man gropes at his ass, dragging thick fingers over him before pressing insistently until the elf cries out. 

"Get him on his knees, I want to shut him up before someone hears," the man growls before another one swiftly knocks Mahanon's knees out from under him, tugging his head back as they begin to undo their belts. They've almost got their smalls down when Mahanon shakes an arm free and punches the man in front in the stomach, quickly summoning enough magic to freeze all three of them solid. 

Shakily, he stands and attempts to put his clothes in some sort of order before limping back to his owner's house, tears streaming unbidden down his face. He slips in the front door as quietly as possible, covering his mouth as he descends the stairs down to the slave quarters in the dark. Mahanon slips on the last couple steps and lands on his ass on the marble, shouting in pain until he can get a hand over his own mouth to muffle his sobs. Hearing footsteps above him, he stills, praying that it's not the master of the house. 

"Mahanon?" A voice calls out tentatively, and the elf can barely hear it over his heaving breaths. They descend a couple more steps until he can see the edge of a staff lit with flames, Dorian's face barely visible. "Are you alright, I thought I heard crying," The elf wants to say yes, that everything's fine, but he knows better than to blatantly lie. Dorian would find out anyway. He holds the flame closer, examining Mahanon's torn clothes and tear-streaked face with confusion, though it becomes painfully clear when he notices the red marks around the elf's wrists where he had been held. 

"Shit, what did they do to you?" He extinguishes the staff, dropping it to take the elf into his arms, though the slave flinches at first. Dorian waits until he's ready before trying again, pulling the elf closer, and helping him back up the stairs. 

"Come to my room, please, I won't let you stay like this," he murmurs, still clearly in shock. Mahanon nods, allowing Dorian to take him to the top floor of the house and light all the candles in his room, carefully depositing the elf on his bed.

Now that they can see each other fully, Dorian swears again, peeling the torn clothes off of him and handing over some of his own clothes for him to change into. He heals the bruises beneath the elf's skin, and makes sure he's not hurting or bleeding anywhere before wrapping him up in a blanket. Mahanon's hands shake as he tugs the blanket tight around himself, finally meeting Dorian's eyes. 

"Thank you," he whispers, unable to attempt even a tiny smile. "I didn't realize that humans would.." Mahanon's laugh sounds more like a sob. He remembers the keeper talking about humans like this, that their desires would turn them into monsters not unlike demons. He had always thought he was safe because he was male, or because of his personality, but the overwhelming fear that he had been wrong settled in the pit of his stomach now, making him wish he was home more than ever.

"If I had been there-- Maker, I'm so sorry," Dorian surprises Mahanon with how angry and devastated he looks. It's likely that having a slave overpowered and violated in public probably isn't a slave that a revered family wants to keep.

But Dorian is different, somehow, as though that's not even close to what he's concerned about. The look of worry on his face is not that of a furious slave owner. He puts a nervous hand on Mahanon's shoulder, and waits for him to toss it away. Instead, Mahanon lets himself lean into the touch, calmed by this human and the soft thrum of magic he can feel through their closeness. Carefully, Dorian pulls Mahanon into an embrace, curling protective arms around the elf's smaller body as Mahanon presses his face into Dorian's neck and breathes in, shuddering. 

"I'll never let this happen to you again. I won't let them hurt you again," Dorian vows, face buried in the slave's tousled hair, lips pressed to his head. Mahanon cries freely into Dorian's robes then, hands barely holding onto him. He trusts Dorian with this, though distantly he knows the other elves wouldn't want him to. All shems are the same, they'd say. They don't care about you at all. 

"You're safe now. I've got you. You're safe," Dorian murmurs above Mahanon's ear, gentle and warm and Mahanon thinks maybe Dorian really is different.

\--

They tiptoe around each other for a week or so, Mahanon barely leaving his quarters. He hears how Mahanon is faring from the other elves, but doesn't allow himself to visit, in case the elf would rather be alone. Dorian wouldn't ask what happened; he knew enough to tell his father that the youngest elf needed rest for at least a few days, and when Halward raised an eyebrow, Dorian smoothly explained that on his last trip to town he had gotten caught in the middle of another Qunari incident. That seemed to satisfy him enough to not ask any more questions.

"Feeling better?" Dorian leans over the dining room table to find Mahanon beneath it, scrubbing the floor. The elf jumps, tossing his hair out of his face. 

"Yes, a little," he replies, sort of awkward. His hands still on the cloth. "I never thanked you for what you did." 

"You don't have to thank me, I did what any decent man would," Dorian answers in his pompous, cocky voice. When Mahanon frowns, he softens, crouching down to meet the elf's gaze, and speak in a quieter, gentler tone. "I'm just happy you're alright. That's not something that's easy to come back from in one piece." Mahanon shrugs, looking at his hands. 

"Maybe I'm not in one piece yet." 

Dorian's smile turns sad. It could take months, years. 

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have assumed." Mahanon shakes his head.

"It's fine, Dorian, please don't worry about it. I simply must be a target for supremely awful luck," he chuckles, soaking the cloth in the soapy water again, before scrubbing at another spot. Dorian watches him work, notes the hesitance in his hands and the dark circles under his eyes. 

"For what it's worth, I'm glad you're here with me," the human murmurs, voice sounding almost meek. The sound of his voice stuns Mahanon, who stops cleaning to look up. Gulping down a paralyzing nervousness, Dorian continues. "I do wish it had been under different circumstances, but you've certainly wrapped me around your finger. I know that's terribly selfish of me to say to you, who has to be here regardless of how little or how much you're enjoying yourself, but I wanted you to know." 

Mahanon blinks, but a knowing smile splits his features when he sees just how red Dorian's face is. 

"Are you telling me you like having me around, Ser Pavus? How scandalous." 

"Yes, I suppose it is quite scandalous, please feel free to inform the Magisterium so they can mark me as the true social outcast I am," he grumbles, unable to ignore the fluttering feeling in his chest as Mahanon smiles bright, pushing the cloth and the bucket aside. "I'll have to say goodbye to my magisterial goals as long as you're still hanging around here, which is truly a travesty. How am I to be Archon with you looking at me like that?" he stops when Mahanon draws closer, their noses almost touching. 

"How dare I draw your gaze away from your plan," he brushes his lips over the corner of Dorian's mouth, making the human gasp, hands twitching. "A Dalish elf, of all things." Dorian tilts his head to press his lips fully to Mahanon's, but footsteps interrupt them, making them both jerk away in shock. 

"Dorian, your father is looking for you!" his mother calls, walking into the room just in time to see Dorian carefully standing back up from under the table, hurriedly adjusting the tablecloth. "What were you doing under there, darling?" 

Mahanon has to cover his mouth to stifle his laughs.

\--

Dorian visits Alexius every couple of days now, still fond of his former patron, though they had drifted apart in recent months. He brings him stacks of research on time magic, and they talk amicably over good memories, but it isn't like it used to be. Dorian sees Alexius beginning to get discouraged, his desire to learn flagging as Felix's health declines. The tired way Alexius dragged himself to his desk almost makes Dorian wish they were still arguing over politics and the fate of Tevinter. They could have changed things together, but Alexius seems to have lost hope.

After spending a moment with Felix, he returns home for the evening, immediately going to the slave quarters to find Mahanon, the urge to steal a bottle of the nice wine and sneak it outside to share it with the elf growing. He's about to open the door when the muffled sounds of an argument stop his hand. Leaning closer to the door, he tries to make out what's being said, only to realize the voices are whispering harshly in Elven. He can only catch a few words from the tiny bit he's learned (though shemlen is thrown around a lot, that one he definitely knows. He's heard lethallin before too, though he's not so sure of the meaning) but he can hear how upset Mahanon sounds, the other two elves clearly disagreeing with him over something. 

"How can you think to still call yourself the Keeper? You've turned your back on us and all of your people," the older elf shouts suddenly, practically knocking Dorian into the door with surprise. 

"Please, it's not like that," Mahanon's saying, his voice wavering. Dorian's hand tightens on the door. "Besides, I am no keeper; we have no clan anymore. It's just us." 

"No, there is us," the elf pauses, and the female elf whispers something hard to make out over her sobs, "and there is just you." 

Deciding that is more than enough of that, Dorian opens the door and takes in a breath to cut the tension in the room, but before he can even form a word, the older elf spits at Mahanon's feet and turns towards the door, clutching the woman to his side. They both look surprised to see Dorian standing there, but it doesn't take long for them to recover, averting their eyes.

"Excuse us, master Pavus," he fumes, knocking into the human none too gently in their haste to exit. Dorian can't even respond sharply to that; he's still stuck on the fact that he had watched him spit on Mahanon. 

"What happened? Are you alright?" Dorian crosses the room to reach for Mahanon who turns from him, hands covering his face. "Mahanon, I want to help." At this, Mahanon drops his hands to look back at the human. Dorian's anger grows when he sees how red Mahanon's eyes are, tears already dripping down his face. What could they have said to make him like this? He wants to ask a thousand more questions, but the sound of Mahanon laughing stops him. Laughing? Right now?

"Of course you do," Mahanon smiles, shaking his head. "Do you know why they're angry with me? Because of you. Because you and I are friends." 

"That's it? He thinks you've turned your back on your people because you and I have a laugh now and again?" 

"You still don't get it, do you," Mahanon's smile is gone now, replaced with something Dorian has never seen before, not even on his face the day he arrived. "You embody everything my people have been taught for years to stay away from. To hate. You aren't the slaver that captured us, nor an ancient Tevinter magister that started all this, but you carry their blood. For them, that is enough." 

"That's-" Dorian can't counter that, can't deny that he's a very lucky product of an empire built on the backs of Mahanon's people. "I want to change this place. I don't want there to be slaves any longer." 

"But have you done anything about it? Have you once thought about standing up for us? Or is the risk of losing that support and comfort too much?" Mahanon quickly shoots back, his voice raising. Dorian shrinks a little, guilt eating away at him. 

"I'm sorry, I've been an ass to you. This isn't fair, I should be doing something about this." 

"Nothing is fair to us," Mahanon's voice this time is much softer as he approaches Dorian. "I know that you want to bring change. I believe you can, I've seen that it's possible," he cups Dorian's face in his hands, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. Leaning into the touch, Dorian reaches up to wipe some of the other man's tears away, feeling a small thrill when Mahanon presses his lips to his palm. "They haven't seen that part of you. They think I'm content with being your slave, that is why they said those things." His hands leave Dorian's face to link behind his neck, pulling him close. "I will never be content here." 

"I was hoping you'd say that," Dorian brushes a hand through Mahanon's hair, yelping in surprise when Mahanon yanks him into a tight embrace, wrapping his own arms around the elf's back. He tries not to sound too relieved that Mahanon's not angry with him. "I am truly sorry, though. I didn't think that spending so much time together would bother them. That was selfish of me." Mahanon huffs a short laugh against Dorian's skin, nose pressed to his jaw.

"I've been selfish, too." 

They stay still for a long time, Dorian content to breathe in the smell of smoke and kitchen spices that linger on the other, fingers drawing circles on the curve of his spine. 

"Are you going to be alright? That was harsh of him, to say those things and spit at you." 

"I'll be fine. He probably won't want to look at me for awhile, but we've got to stick together against all you evil magisters," Dorian groans at this, making Mahanon giggle. "-so I'm sure he'll come around." 

"Good. I can't imagine he'd be pleased if I had your belongings moved to my room due to your inability to cooperate," Dorian pulls back to let Mahanon see the look in his eyes, Mahanon flushing bright red and wriggling out of his arms, laughing. 

"I'm sure that would make your father very happy, too." Dorian laughs aloud. 

"Oh he'd be beside himself, that I am sure of. You know, I came down here to invite you to have a drink with me, and now I'm quite sure we could both really use it. Perhaps some expensive wine that I certainly didn't pay for?" Mahanon wipes the last of the tears from his eyes and nods, taking Dorian's proffered hand in his own as they leave his quarters and go take a peek in the wine cellar. 

"I'd love that."

\--

They leave for a week on a holiday south, and Dorian has never been so excited to have the house to himself. Taking the two older slaves and deciding that the four of them is enough, his parents leave Mahanon behind with Dorian, reminding him to feed their son, though Dorian would deny it if anyone asked.

In celebration, he threw open every window and broke out their finest bottles of wine, setting a table on the balcony for a candlelit dinner. Dragging another nice armchair out onto the stone, Mahanon watches Dorian set it up on the opposite side of the table, pouring a second glass of wine. 

"Are you inviting a friend over?" the elf asks, looking down at the plate of food in his hand that he'd brought out for Dorian. Turning, Dorian grins. 

"I know you're not that dense, darling. The second chair is for you." Dorian sets the plate on the table, pulling the chair out with a flourish. "My parents aren't here so I'm going to ignore social pretenses and have dinner with you. I can't drink all this wine by myself." Mahanon doesn't move, looking as embarrassed as Dorian feels.

"I insist." 

Mahanon swallows and seats himself, folding his hands in his lap as Dorian leaves and returns with another plate of food, sitting across from him. The little table isn't much bigger than a nightstand, but it fits both of them well enough, Dorian stretching his legs out beneath the table before he brushes one of the elf's legs, making them both flinch in surprise. 

"Sorry," he mumbles into his wine glass, downing it in a few sips. He'd gone into this feeling charming and suave, but the thought of the elf sharing dinner with him made him jittery like a child.

"It's alright," Mahanon replies, red tinging his cheeks as he moves his food around the plate, eating it slowly. "I've just never quite done this before." 

"Neither have I, actually," Dorian admits. "Unless you count sitting at dinner with a hundred other people and ignoring all of them a date." 

"If I had known this was to be a date, I would have made something else," Mahanon laughs, Dorian swearing in his head as the tips of the elf's ears turn pink. It's horrible how cute he is. It's been horrible since the day he arrived. 

"Nonsense, this is delicious. I'm glad my parents made you the babysitter." He refills their wine glasses, and catches Mahanon beaming at him like he's the Maker or one of his elven creators or someone worthy of that look, and finds the swearing in his head is even louder.

"I'm glad, too. Remind me to thank your father." 

"Don't; it'll go to his head. He's got enough associates kissing his feet as it is." 

They eat in silence for a few moments before Dorian asks Mahanon more questions about his clan. He talks about their everyday life, how often they moved and what they had seen, as well as what his family was like.

"My father was a hunter who was away most of the time. My mother was the first to the keeper before I was. She taught me a lot of what I know. She died before she could become the keeper though; templars killed her." 

"I've heard the southern templars have done some awful things, but I didn't know they did them to the Dalish, too. I'm sorry." Mahanon shakes his head, smiling to himself. 

"Don't be. It was a long time ago. They must have thought she was an apostate. My father was inconsolable for days afterwards, especially since they took her body. We had nothing." 

"And your father now?" 

"We were separated. I'm..." Mahanon looks out over the rooftops. "I'm not sure if he's still alive." Dorian hated his parents on most days, but to think of losing them even remotely the way Mahanon did made him feel ill. He hates the sad story that seems to follow Mahanon like a plague, poisoning every good thing he'd ever had. 

They talked for awhile longer about things that weren't nearly as bleak, Dorian pleased with the smile he could coax out of the other man as they started their third bottle of wine. He stands to pick up their plates, Mahanon leaning over the table, caught in a breathy laugh. 

He means to just clean the table when he bends over, but Dorian threads fingers through Mahanon's hair instead and presses their lips together, humming as the elf tips his glass over and lifts his hands to Dorian's face, pulling him closer. Dorian's hands slip on Mahanon's sides, fingers gripping tight as they break their kiss. He remembers what happened, what the humans had done to him, fear bubbling up and as much as it pleased Dorian to finally have those lips on him, he couldn't continue this, not until he was sure it was what the other man wanted. 

"Mahanon, I-"

"No," the elf cuts him off, chuckling, clearly tipsy. The sound of it is almost too much for Dorian, who bows his head and bumps their noses together. "Don't say it. Please just kiss me again." Dorian is all too quick to oblige. 

He ends up straddling him in the large chair, Mahanon's hands sliding down over his neck and chest as he tugs the elf's shirt over his head, dinner long forgotten. It's another couple moments of slow, open mouthed kisses before Dorian remembers they're outside and people can see them, laughing aloud as he helps Mahanon out of the chair, half carrying him to his bedroom. 

Shoving a stack of books off of his expansive bed, Dorian carefully lowers him to the mattress, leaving marks high along his neck, stopping only to let the elf quickly undress him. Dorian's hands wander over pale skin, tracing old scars and smooth muscles with reverence, Mahanon's ears turning pink at his work. He's always sort of liked elves; their elegant, sinewy bodies, long fingers and soft hair, but Dorian knows without a doubt Mahanon is his favorite elf by far. 

Mahanon's hands twitch and he reaches out for Dorian, tugging on his wrist. Smirking, Dorian climbs onto the bed above him, tracing a path down the elf's body with his mouth. He's unable to help how his smirk grows when Mahanon moans, hands scrambling for any sort of purchase on the other man, head tipped back. 

"You are absolutely intoxicating," Dorian murmurs somewhere along his hip, watching his chest rise and fall quickly, Mahanon's head lifting from the bed to blink down at him in surprise. 

"I could say the same for you," he counters, one hand reaching down to mess up Dorian's perfectly styled hair. Dorian should have berated the other for that, but he couldn't bring himself to form the words. There were much more pressing matters; quite literally. He laughs, hands moving to the top of Mahanon's leggings, smoothing his fingertips over them as he meets his eyes again. 

"I know I'm out of my mind, dear, but I just wanted to make sure that this is alright," the last of the sentence is quiet, Dorian suddenly feeling a little self conscious. He wants to do this, more than anything. But not if Mahanon says no; he won't make him suffer again; he promised that. Even as drunk as they both are, Dorian can still see a flicker of worry pass over the other man's face. But it disappears, and Mahanon nods. 

"I've.." he laughs suddenly, covering his eyes as he flops back down onto the bed. "I've wanted you to do this for awhile. Before anything happened. I thought it was wrong, that I was disgusting for wanting a human, my owner no less. That's why I kissed you under the table, that's why I said all those things." Dorian is speechless, and that clearly makes the elf nervous, as he lifts his hand and looks up again, now extremely embarrassed. 

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything," he speaks in a rush, and Dorian leans up to silence him with a kiss. 

"No, thank you. I don't think anyone's been that honest with me since I was born," Dorian laughs, still incredulous that his slave is attracted to him. How did he get so lucky and yet so terribly unlucky, too? "I've wanted to do this for awhile, too. I've wanted you to be mine since the party, but I was afraid you'd think of me as one of the perverted magisters," Dorian explains, his voice tentative. "I like you a lot more than I should, I'm afraid." 

"I'm so glad," Mahanon breathes against Dorian's mouth, sounding quite like a sigh of relief. "I could never see you as one of them, especially since I want to do this. I've wanted to for so long, so don't worry, okay? I'm alright." 

"As long as you're alright," Dorian smiles warmly, lowering him back down to the bed and leaning in to pull his leggings off the rest of the way, slipping fingers beneath his smalls to wrap around him. Immediately Mahanon's eyes squeeze shut as he moans low, canting his hips up as Dorian twists and flicks his wrist. 

"Let me know if you need me to stop," he adds, enjoying the way he swells between his fingers. 

"Please don't stop," Mahanon says in a rush, one hand tangling in the sheets up by his head as the other presses fingernail marks into Dorian's shoulder. Tugging Mahanon's smalls down and off, Dorian shifts his body down to drag his tongue over the tip of the elf's length. Mahanon lets out a strangled groan that sounds something like Dorian's name, getting louder when Dorian takes him into his mouth. Distantly, Dorian's glad he waited until now to do this; he'd feel so bad for shushing the elf when every syllable out of his mouth sounded like music. Even pulling back drew a soft whine from the elf, making Dorian grin as he kisses one of his thighs.

"I've been looking forward to that, especially." Mahanon practially whimpers, hands covering his face. Dorian tuts, reaching up to draw his hands away and look into his eyes. "Please. I want to see your face." Mahanon turns scarlet, biting his lip and nodding. Satisfied with that answer, Dorian puts his mouth on him again, bobbing his head as he wraps his hand around the base, tongue swirling over the tip. Mahanon curls his hand in Dorian's hair, tugging gently whenever he does something particularly good. 

"Dorian, creators, you're amazing," he babbles, spurring the human on. Dorian knows he's talented, but hearing Mahanon's praise fills him with pride, and stokes the desire low in his body. He wants to slam Mahanon into the bed, fuck him until they're both screaming, until there's nothing left in the world but the two of them, but he knows he can't, not now. He can wait until Mahanon's ready, even if it takes years. He's more than willing to wait for the beautiful elf beneath him, looking at him like he put the stars in the sky. 

Pulling off of him, Dorian climbs back up his body to press their lips together, groaning when Mahanon's tongue sweeps across his mouth, tilting his head to deepen the kiss. They share a smile before Dorian leans over the side of the bed to grab something, Mahanon following him with his eyes. He finds the bottle of oil and then kneels on the bed, sliding his own pants off his hips, laughing when Mahanon reaches up to finish the job for him, hands running over his ass and then circling his length, drawing a soft moan from his mouth. 

"My turn." 

Wearing a wicked grin, Mahanon pushes Dorian back down to his bed, crouching down by his hips. Dorian raises an eyebrow, but finds the question he was about to ask gone as soon as Mahanon's mouth closes around his cock, tongue and throat working to fit as much as he could. 

"Have you done this before?" Dorian asks, incredulous. Mahanon smiles around him and hums in response, his mouth never leaving him. He remembered reading something about elves abstaining from sex until they were married, but idly he found himself wondering how out of date those books were. 

"You're thinking too hard," Mahanon comments, lips still against his tip. "Maybe I should try harder." 

"Oh yes, I was definitely thinking much too hard," Dorian teases, though his voice drops off at the end when Mahanon sucks at him, hands splayed over his hipbones. "Good thing you're here...to distract me." Dorian feels one of Mahanon's hands disappear, and when it's not placed around him again, he looks down the length of his body to see where it went, biting back a surprised moan when he sees Mahanon is touching himself, knees spread as he slowly rocks into his hand. The sight of it is almost too much for Dorian, and he feels his hips begin to stutter against the elf's mouth. 

"You're cheating, come back up here, I want to try something," he says all at once, making Mahanon's eyes blink open and his hand and mouth stop. 

"Are you alright?" he asks, letting Dorian gather him in his arms and bring their hips together. 

"I'm fine, but I'll be even better in a moment," their cocks touch and they both shiver. "There we go." Grabbing the vial of oil again, Dorian slicks them up and wraps his hand around both of them, loving the way Mahanon leans against him, arms pulling him closer. Ducking his head, he presses open-mouthed kisses to Mahanon's collarbone, leaving more purple marks in his wake, feeling the magic vibrate beneath the other's skin, his own body singing to meet it. 

"You are stunning, Mahanon," he tells the elf, kissing his jaw, quickening his pace and feeling Mahanon's pulse jump to meet it. Mahanon's arms tighten, his breaths coming shorter. 

"So are you," he pants, forehead falling to Dorian's shoulder as they rut against each other, unable to form anything else coherent after that. Pressing bruises into Mahanon's hips and a kiss to his ear, Dorian comes with a soft cry, his pace faltering as he tries to bring Mahanon over the edge with him. It's only another moment before Mahanon shudders, moaning Dorian's name as he comes, spilling himself over their stomachs and hands. 

They stay still for another minute, catching their breaths. Dorian curses softly and Mahanon laughs, tilting his head back to wipe his chin and lips clean, Dorian catching his fingers and kissing each of them in turn. 

"Still alright?" he questions then, still not ready for the adoring smile the red-faced elf gives him, even as he pushes him back down against the bed. 

"More than alright," Mahanon murmurs, pressing lazy kisses to Dorian's neck as he flops down beside him. "May I stay here? I'm not sure how humans ask that sort of thing," he admits, sheepish. Dorian turns to meet his eyes. 

"You want to stay?" He hadn't been expecting that. 

"I do. Your bed is much more comfortable than mine, you know," he grins, but it becomes nervous a moment later as he looks away "I mean, if that's alright with you."

"Of course you can stay, I just didn't think you'd want to," Dorian replies, letting the elf curl under one of his arms, tangling their legs together. He should really get up and clean them off, but that can wait a little longer. "Most of the time, they don't want to stay." Mahanon glances up at him again, hair sticking to his forehead. Dorian still isn't used to the honesty Mahanon bears in his expression, the look he's giving him making his heart slam against his ribs as if it's trying to escape. Everyone else has made excuses, noted the time, the place, anything to get away. That was what was normal. Mahanon moves closer, as if they could be pressed any more tightly against one another. 

"I want to stay." 

Dorian watches Mahanon fall asleep not much later, soft snores vibrating in his bones.

\--

The next days pass in a languid blur. Dorian ignores every duty in favor of spending more time with Mahanon, making sure he doesn't have to do a single slave thing; he'll deal with his parents ire when they come back to find the house a mess, that was fine. They sleep every night together in Dorian's lavish bed, Mahanon's small frame curled beside his, head on his shoulder. Dorian's pretty sure both of them sleep better than they have in ages.

They sleep in til the heat of the sun through the windows is too much to bear, though Mahanon stills when he hears noises down the hall. 

"Dorian," he whispers, reaching out to shake the human's bare shoulder. "Your parents." 

"Hmm? Five more minutes, mother, I'm having a good dream," he mumbles, attempting to tug Mahanon back down into the bed. He catches his arm and crushes him close, toppling the elf back against the mattress. Mahanon struggles to get free, calling the human's name a couple more times, struggling to get out of his grasp and put some clothes on. He doesn't wake up until his father is standing in the doorway, looking between his son and the naked elf in his bed. 

"Dorian." 

He sits up, attempting to look nonchalant. "Father, what a wonderful surprise! I trust you had a good time on your trip? Did you murder any children?" His father looks painfully unamused. Mahanon freezes, trapped like a wild animal. 

"Is this it?" he gestures to Mahanon, who doesn't miss how demeaning the question is. "Is this why you've turned down any potential wife?" 

"Father, don't try to blame this on him," Dorian corrects, wanting to be angrier, but still hazy with sleep and very naked. "I've turned down potential wives since I could walk. I have been this way for forever, how many times have I told you that? You can't change me. _I_ can't even change me, as much as I'd like to so you'd leave me alone." 

His father doesn't move or say anything for awhile, and Mahanon feels like all of the air has left the room. 

"If you want to argue about it some more, do you mind letting me get dressed first? It's dreadfully hard for me to win if I'm naked."

"No more jokes, Dorian." His father snaps, and Dorian's glare deepens. "I won't listen this any longer. I'm taking him." The glare immediately disappears, replaced with an expression of such shock and vulnerability that Mahanon can't look at him. He feels his blood turn to ice at the thought of being ripped from the only good thing left in his life, quickly debating fighting back versus escaping. If Halward still doesn't know he's a keeper, he'd be able to distract him with something and run, but there's no way he could take on a magister like this. Running was his best option, maybe taking a window out and praying to the creators that Dorian would be alright. 

But fear stills his hands. Slaves who disobey aren't simply berated and sent to their rooms. He could be killed. 

"You're taking him? Where? I won't let you!" Dorian's voice is frantic as he scrambles to reach over the bed to where Mahanon is standing, but his father reaches the elf first, fisting a hand in his hair. Mahanon visibly recoils, clamping a hand over his mouth to muffle any sounds. 

"I've tried everything else. You leave me no choice." 

"If you're going to punish someone, punish me, not him! He's a fucking slave! He doesn't want me, he's just doing what I wanted him to do, as his master!" Dorian's voice breaks as he bunches all the sheets around himself and stands, watching his father drag Mahanon to the door. Mahanon says nothing, doesn't struggle, doesn't move except to follow. He can't bear to meet Dorian's eyes, when the sound of his voice is already tearing him up. "He didn't want any of this, he's just doing his job." 

His father pauses for a moment, looking down at the tears prickling in Mahanon's eyes, and then across the room at his son again. 

"I am punishing you." 

Dorian calls the elf's name down the hallway between curses, the sheets smoking as they catch fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long; I hope you all like it! Unbeta'd again so let me know if there are really bad mistakes! 
> 
> In case you were wondering what hairstyle and vallaslin Mahanon has in this, it's [these ones](https://images.plurk.com/bW4LXga6D.jpg).


End file.
